Sacra-Hill had always been a city of peace, nestled between the great Murlan River and the borders of the Elven, Dwarven and human Kingdoms. Merchants, travelers, and artisans made their way through the cobbled streets every day, filling the city with life, color, and the clinking of coins. As the only free city on the Murlan River, Sacra-Hill had always been a thorn in the side of the Austorian Empire. The freedoms its citizens enjoyed were a stark contrast to the oppression of the neighboring Austorian Empire, especially for freed Beastkin like Markus and Emilia. But such a beacon of independence could not last forever—not under the shadow of war.
The pottery store Markus Oredust owned stood across the street from the bakery Emilia ran, both symbols of the modest but happy life they had built together. Markus stood in his shop, his hands expertly molding a new pot, his thoughts drifting as the clay turned beneath his fingers. He paused for a moment to glance out of the window, watching the distant flow of the Murlan River, the sunlight sparkling on the water. The Murlan River was peaceful, though Markus knew that peace was fragile. A flicker of unease crossed his mind, but he shook it off, focusing again on his work.
Across the street, his wife Emilia hummed softly as she kneaded dough for the day's bread, flour dusting her apron. Their daughter, Lila, stood on her tiptoes, helping a customer by reaching for a loaf from the counter. Lila, only eleven, was quick to smile, her bright eyes reflecting the warmth of the bakery, the scent of freshly baked bread mingling with the faint sweetness of cakes.
"Lila, be careful with that tray," Emilia called, her voice gentle but firm. "We’ve got the noon rush coming soon, and I don’t want you burning yourself."
"I’m fine, Mama," Lila replied, her small hands steady as she placed the warm loaves in the basket. "I can help!"
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Emilia smiled at her daughter’s eagerness. Life, while humble, had been good to them in Sacra-Hill, and Lila, with her innocent determination, was a reminder of all that was worth protecting.
But the city's calm was deceptive.
Late in the afternoon, as Markus closed the pottery shop’s doors, a distant sound caught his ear. He frowned, stepping outside and glancing toward the city gates. There was no mistaking the sound now—it was the slow, grinding march of an army, and the sound of war trumpets.
"THE ASTORIANS ARE COMING!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!” The merchant's voice tore through the air as his horse galloped toward the Salin Bridge.
Panic rippled through the crowd. Beastkin, Dwarves, and cloaked Elves scattered in all directions.
Marcus froze, disbelief tightening his chest. It couldn’t be. They couldn’t be that reckless.
He spotted Sherry the Dwarf, a local glassblower known for her calm, racing toward him, her children trailing behind.
“Sherry!” Markus called, grabbing her arm as she passed. “Is it true? The Second Army?”
Sherry’s eyes were wild with fear. “It’s them, Markus. Run—before they—”
Markus didn’t wait to hear more. He sprinted across the street to the bakery, his heart hammering in his chest. ‘The Second Army.’ The words echoed in his mind as he reached for the door.
Austoria’s 2nd Army, known as the ‘Slaver Army,’ for their ruthless practice of enslaving those they conquered, was coming.
He hurried across the street to the bakery, finding Emilia wiping down the counters as Lila swept the floor.
“Emilia, we have to leave. Now.” His voice trembled with fear .
She glanced up, startled by the panic in his eyes. “What’s happening?”
“The Austorians—they’re here. We have to go before they—"
A thunderous roar split the air. The shriek of metal echoed down the streets, followed by the crash of wood and stone as the city gates crumbled. Screams pierced the air, blending with the pounding of soldiers’ boots and the low bass of the War Trumpets. Smoke curled through the narrow streets, thick and acrid, stinging Markus’s eyes. The fire wasn’t just coming—it was here .
Sacra-Hill was under attack.